m1d-45 - Tumblr blog

m1d-45 · 5 days

Note

-Pari Anon

Pari!Reader gets sad when their leaf mask gets torn. Whether they were playing too rough or Wei (the cat in the inn lobby) tore it, they lost their mask. They have those sad anime eyes (the cutely exaggerated ones). They want to fix it, but no one else knew about that leaf mask.

They stay gloomy for the rest of the day until Xiao comes back.

The next day, they see a little replica of Xiao’s mask made from wood. It was sitting near their nest. When they tried it in, it was light but sturdy. Who could have gotten it for them? How was it so detailed? Who could have known? Oh well. Time to play, little Pari thinks.

Xiao didn’t have the heart to just leave them after he heard them crying when the leaf mask was ripped. He might have put a charm on this one so it wouldn’t break as easily.

[ previous post ]

xiao was better than this. the last yaksha, conqueror of demons, the bane of all evil himself.. searching the plains of liyue well into the night for a suitable piece of wood to carve. it wasn’t for an offering, it wouldn’t be turned into an incense bowl or statue, it was neither for a critical repair or somehow enchanted to be a danger. no, this wood would be used for a far more frivolous purpose: you.

you, who he’d been watching from the roof as you played on the balcony below. you with your mock spear and wei with his paws, uselessly batting at each other in a play fight. he thought it was ridiculous, really—your thin wings would surely bleed beneath any monster’s claws, better you learn to run away from danger—but had watched. it was harmless fun. you ducked behind the potted bonsai for protection, racing around the trunk and likely making the poor cat dizzy, when a harsh rip echoed into the night. you stopped, looking behind you as the two halves of your ‘mask’ fluttered to the floor, torn by one of the branches of the tree. his only thought was that you weren’t hurt, watching as wei tackled you off the pot and onto the floor, but you squirmed free quickly, floating over to the remains… sadly? wei followed, sniffing the leaves, but you didn’t seem interested in playing anymore. you sat by the leaves for far too long, not even moving when wei curled up beside you.

it was nothing. it was a leaf tied around your head with another’s stem, bound to rot and flake away anyway, but you were sulking the next day. he never thought he’d return to his makeshift room and have you not fly up to him with a cloud of chirps, and he quickly decided he didn’t like it. if you were sad you lost your mask, then he’d just have to get you a new one.

he kicked at the remains of a campfire, stomping out the remaining embers. an abandoned adventurer’s camp of some sort, the air free of any malicious warnings. besides the remains of the campfire were a few stray logs, likely spare firewood. he dug through the measly pile, pulling out a log. there was no rot, water damage, no sign of bugs or anything else that would ruin the wood. without another thought, he tucked it under his arm, turning and vanishing into the wind.

he had left when you were already asleep, so he could go straight to his room, but he made a stop first. yanxiao hardly jumped when he turned from the stove, though he did eye the log in his hands strangely.

“what can i get you?”

“i need to borrow a knife.”

“…” he laughed, propping his hands on the table in front of him, and xiao grit his teeth. an adepti, reduced to this… “what, did you lose your spear?”

“of course i didn’t,” he snapped, “but i’m not foolish enough to think i can use a spear to carve wood.”

yanxiao nodded in understanding, reaching into his pocket for a small flip knife. it was barely as long as one of his fingers, the handle a dark wood. “this should do, i think.” he threw the knife underhand, and xiao caught it with ease. the blade flicked out easily, sharp to the touch. “remember to cut away from you, yeah?”

his grip tightened on the knife, leaving without thanks.

safely in the shadow of his room, xiao finally relaxed. one by one, he removed his guards and charms, quietly setting them in their respective places. you were curled up in your bed as always, none the wiser as he stepped out onto the balcony. he sat facing the moon, setting his mask on the floor beside him. again drawing the small knife, he braced the wood in his lap and began to carve.

yanxiao was many things, but a fool he was not. he had heard from verr about your mask tearing yesterday, about how you sat quietly on xiao’s terrace for the rest of the day in a pout. you were a strange guest, certainly, but you were xiao’s. he kept very limited company, and those he lingered around felt his affections quietly.

when flowers had blown off their tables prior to the reception of an important guest, a mysterious bundle of qingxin had found it’s way onto the reception desk to replace them. when the eccentric xianyun had stopped by for a ‘surprise lunch,’ a small note in familiar writing on his table told him her tastes. when your small, flimsy mask tore in two… well, he couldn’t wait to find out.

he worked as usual, trading guesses with verr as he helped ferry plates back and forth. would he fetch you new leaves in perpetuity? fetch new ones from your home nation of sumeru? find a new toy to distract you? neither of them had ever met a pari before, didn’t know what you wanted or needed to thrive, but they entertained themselves with nonsense speculation nontheless.

xiao showing up in his kitchen without warning was nothing out of the ordinary. yanxiao had learned to pick out the shift in air pressure that signaled his arrival, wiping off his hands and putting the washed vegetables aside. the flat expression on his face was also routine, but the log he held most certainly wasn’t. handcarved offerings weren’t all too uncommon in liyue, especially from an adeptus, but he had a feeling it wasn’t for rex lapis or another adepti.

the next question, of course, was what he would carve. verr suggests a wooden mimic of the leaf mask and he can’t hide the way that makes him laugh, his smile wider than usual as he greets customers.

that night, if you stood just quietly enough beneath the upper balcony and the wind blew the right way, you would hear the quiet scrape of wood and metal. and the next morning, if you were anywhere near the inn, you would likely see a bright pari weaving through the levels, eager to show off their brand new mask carved by the hero of dihua marsh himself.

#m1d : [chats]#m1d : [secrets]#pari anon #WHATS UP CHATTERS #IVE HAD THIS ASK FOR 323 DAYS #FEELING GOOD (LIE)#either next up or the one after is the promised fatuiposting because. because. b. because-#pari anon pretty please dont hate me 🙏#im working on your other asks as we speak xoxo #i finally went through and logged all the asks in my inbox which ive been meaning to do forever #theres like 30+ of them but we ball we ball we ball we ball #feeling motivated n im going to try not to burn myself out again cause ngl? shit sucks #oh also happy 4/20 to those who celebrate

30 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 9 days

Text

renewed

summary: many things have changed in aether's life since he met you...

word count: 2.7k

-> warnings: n/a

-> gn reader (you/yours) + aether as traveller!

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

aether isn’t quite human. at least not entirely, not anymore.

it could be argued that even prior to coming to teyvat, he and his sister weren’t entirely human. they were nearly always stronger than the native life wherever they traveled, never lingering long enough for an accurate portrait to be drawn. between their glittering wings and the razor sharp swords at their hips, it could be easily argued that from the perspective of the people they visited they could be called angels.

a few wrote legends about them. the gilded warriors with shimmering swords that blinded as they slashed, so in step with each other that it was as if they were one being. the saviors, the adventurers, the peaceful giants, twin faces atop four wings apiece. lumine always managed to sneak away a copy of these legends, and they privately laughed over the artwork at their camp that night.

“we don’t look that intimidating, do we?”

“i’m fairly certain-… hang on, is that a tail?”

“that’s supposed to my hair, i think.”

“no no, look. it connects lower, here.”

“…by the stars-”

they didn’t see themselves that way, though. they were simply twins, defined by the other in every sense. never apart for long, always stood side by side, trading swords before a dangerous fight as a promise to return them.

‘draw me with courage.’

‘wield me with valor.’

lumine and aether and aether and lumine. they never fussed about the order, so long as they were together. call them whatever you’d like, insults or praise or a simple, tired request to leave, as long as it was both of them. they were all they had left. the other half of their life. to try and pry apart the seam would only result in bleeding hearts, limbs tangling together to at least die by the other’s side. even ‘twin’ was too simple a word to fit the entirety of their lives into. ‘twin’ implied a degree of separation, an impossible gap between them where wind would blow and the world would dig into, pushing them away like waves in a boat’s wake. ‘twin’ was too shallow a word, to bitter, too small to encompass everything they felt.

such fervent devotion could never be considered ‘human,’ for no human would ever live long enough to know the fear that came with knowing everything that swelled would eventually fall. no human would clutch so desperately to the twin pillars in their life—would ever consider basing their world upon two things. they’d call it foolish, even, for what would you do if one collapsed?

aether never liked that question. he didn’t like it when he and lumine first heard it, he didn’t like it when he and lumine heard it a second time, he didn’t like it anytime he and lumine heard it after that. he didn’t like it now, her sword slipping from his hands as he reached, his fingers barely brushing hers.

the unknown god laughed, and he barely had time to feel rage before the world closed in on him and his memory faded away.

aether and lumine. lumine and aether. she was always insistent upon his safety, but just this once he wished she wasn’t. living in whatever stasis she was in within that cube would certainly hurt less than this, bile rising in his throat at his failure.

somewhere in his mind, he knew that it logically wasn’t his fault. he remembered the layer of warmth that had surrounded him mid-battle, saw the reflection of understanding in lumine’s eyes. it wasn’t technically his fault, he didn’t ask to be saved, ignoring that it was his own actions that led to his god’s blessing. perhaps if he wasn’t so strict about the time of his prayer he wouldn’t have to be alone on this beach, though there was no way to find out. the sand stretched on either side, and though it wasn’t infinite, he had not left the immediate area around where he’d first woken up. to move was to move on, to leave, to accept that his world had shattered into a thousand little fragments and to give up on picking them off the floor. he couldn’t leave. to leave was to surrender to this new fate. to leave was to forget about his sister, to forget about his self, to forget about the half of his life he never imagined he could lose.

family and faith. to lose his gods favor was a threat he could live with, as there would only be himself to blame. but his sister?

if he hadn’t fished up paimon, he’s not certain he would have eaten the fish that came up instead.

she was bright, bubbly, at least after coughing up an impossible amount of seawater. she thanked him profusely while wringing out her hair, insisting on helping him in return because “it’s only fair!” as if he wasn’t three times her weight (save her magic) and and ten times as strong.

and he let her. he’s not sure why, but he did. he watched her fumble to catch crabs, ending up covered in sand, and managed a weak smile. it was for her, he told himself, spearing three with a sword that wasn’t his, helping her arrange driftwood into a measly campfire. he hardly felt hungry despite being on the beach for what had to be a few months in local time, but she was so insistent that he have some.. it was for her benefit. he just had to get her somewhere safe, then… then…

“so, where are you from?”

aether looked up from his barely-touched meal, meeting her eyes. they were so wide and earnest, too trusting for someone that just met him.

not that he had any ill intentions. no, lumine would always joke that the day he was willingly rude to another would be the day the sky turned red—something that had been the case on one of the planets they’d visited, much to her delight.

aether turned back to the fire, pushing aside the memory. “another planet.” his voice was hoarse and his throat scratched with salt from attempting to drink the seawater earlier, which was not as potable as he’d hoped. “i flew here with my sister.”

“you have a sister?” paimon looked around, though they both knew she wouldn’t find anything. “where is she?”

aether swallowed salt and bile, taking another bite of his crab just to stall. “how about we talk in the morning?”

she let the topic drop.

he didn’t sleep that night, lending her his scarf as a pillow and keeping watch. she didn’t wake when the moon erased the shadows in the sand, or when the sun first crested the sea, or when the sky fully lightened to a pale blue, birdsong filling the air. one of the remnants from the fire found its way into his hand, reaching out to gently shake her awake. her eyes were heavy and she covered her mouth as she yawned, aether looking away before his own could water.

he drew nothing in the sand as she asked her questions—who are you, where’d you come from, who are you missing, what happened to her, why didn’t you do anything?—sketching out mountains and seas he wiped away as soon as they took form. he spoke for much longer than he meant to, his words pulled out as if they were tied to some invisible string.

when was the last time he was alone for this long?

paimon listened intently, brows drawn and frowning deeply, watching as he carved twin—twin, separated by time and space—stars into the sand. “so… what you’re trying to say is that you fell here… from another world? but when you wanted to leave, to go on to the next world, your path was blocked by some unknown god?”

wow, he wanted to snark, i didn’t know there was an echo out here! but the chance never came. magic gripped him by the throat and his eyes went wide in panic, his mouth shaping words he didn’t choose to say by force. he didn’t want to say what someone else told him to. he didn’t know what was going on. he was being pulled at some ghost’s whims, walking stiffly across the sand. it did not skid from beneath his feet, nor pull his balance one way or another. it was solid as stone, leading him up the beach without warning, without knowledge of why or when it would stop.

when was the last time he was this helpless?

(lumine.)

he stumbled across the shore on uncoordinated limbs, fighting fruitlessly. ahead, slime bubbled up from where the sand met the sea, but the ghost did not stop. mist coagulated into a pale blue blob with hazy spots for eyes, and only then was he allowed to stop. paimon yelped and ducked behind him, a familiar weight sinking into his hand. the slime had barely the chance to turn and see him, jerking up as if surprised, when his arm slashed forward.

a sword. not his sword, not lumine’s sword, but a sword, pulled from nowhere, the dull blade hacking at the blob of its own will until the sludge dispersed and sunk back into the sand. a soft mist lingered above the sand, but he was pulled forward without care or remorse. he didn’t even know if it would have hurt him.

weight hit him between the shoulders, cold spreading over his skin and absorbing into his skin. energy buzzed beside his ear, his earring humming with neither outlet nor conduit. were he anyone else, he would have been afraid, but he recognized the buzz. all at once, he understood. all at once, the weak puppetry was vindicated, his muscles relaxing and letting it happen. your energy sank into him, and he let himself stop worrying.

if you were here, he’d be okay. if you were here, you could fix this.

if you were here, he could find his sister, and everything would be okay again.

aether was not human. not entirely, not anymore, and he knew the people of mondstat could tell. you had stayed to guide his body for a week, alternating between helping the knights with dvalin and exploring the plains of mondstat. he was weak and your grip was frail, his attacks uncoordinated and clumsy, but you were there. you understood. the cavalry captain gave him a long stare as they exited his domain, a mix of curiosity and disbelief swirling in his one eye.

when you finally left, you did so in the middle of mondstat square. a physical weight lifted from his shoulders, the anemo he’d absorbed turning from calm and controlled to pushing at the edges of his form, trying to make him give. the anemo archon approached, soothing the wind with a wave of his hand, pulling him along for a drink and a chat. his knees did not want to bend without your command, his mind fraying a bit from continued exposure.

“how interesting, that you’re still standing after a week without rest,” the bartender remarked, the glass in his hands obviously an excuse to keep them above the bar. “what’s your name, outlander?”

he did not think of his own name. no, when he went to answer, he thought of the name you had given him, the one you whispered as you sheltered him from the unknown god’s wrath. it was not his, but it was yours, and wasn’t that what he was asking for?

it took too long for him to answer. red eyes narrowed but eventually chalked it up to exhaustion, giving him directions he couldn’t hear. the captain led him to a room in the back, but he didn’t sleep that night, sitting at the window and searching for the thin sliver of stars.

he didn’t need to eat anymore. he could, certainly, and it tasted fine enough, but he didn’t exactly need to. he’d thought it odd, at first, that barbatos was healed strictly by the wind, but he understood now. he spent his free time sitting under vanessa’s tree, half-asleep as he waited for your return.

you were his source of energy, of will. you knew answers to problems he’d have given up on, and if you didn’t then you tried and tried and tried again until you got it right. you were the power that purified dvalin’s tears, you swept the wind to fix the holy lyre, you cleared the seals around decarabian’s tower. he was a medium, and he was happy with that. your presence waxed and waned, the lapses without you seeming to pass by in a blink.

a few of the knights worried for him, but he knew your vessels understood. none held as much of your power as him, none were as reliant on you, but they understood. they excused his oddities with a kind smile, paimon always at his side to make sure he didn’t waste away the day simply sitting in one spot. prior to coming to teyvat, the concept of elemental sight was something he was only vaguely familiar with. a few planets had some talented witches that could feel the flow of energy through the ground and grass, who could watch the mist in the air and predict the weather. he’d never experienced it himself before. now, the world lit up as his eyes took on a teal sheen, your power mixing with the anemo within him to grant him insight. the world was so vibrant, even the most mundane sights capturing his attention. how could he not stare? if he had it his way he’d always view your creations like this.. but whenever paimon snapped him out of it he’d come out of it with a headache, not to mention his staring tended to be off-putting to those around.

a lot of his new behaviors were. when within your control, he moved stiffly, with repetitive motions forecast well in advance. you chose what he said, when and how he moved, you controlled the very flow of elements through his body. it was harder and harder to think for himself without you there and though paimon handled most of the conversation, there was only so much she could say.

“who are you looking for?” lumine. his sister. himself. the knowledge was there but his throat was closed, unwilling to move without your order.

“thank you for your help.” you’re welcome. don’t worry about it. it was nothing. all he could manage was a stiff nod, eyes flicking to the sky, counting the days until your return. he’d gotten a good grasp of your routine by now.

“who are you?” yours. a traveller. lumine’s. he could not blame those they ran across for their suspicion, even though he wanted to. could they not feel the remains of your presence lingering around him?

they had to go to the rite of decension soon. liyue was holding off, though, waiting for your arrival. they’d never dare to make you miss it, so aether felt no hurry to leave. he laid in the middle of windrise, staring up at the stars. he used to sit atop the knights’ headquarters, but it took too long for the lights of the city to turn out and he liked picking out the various constellations.

his was up there, somewhere. he didn’t have a vision like your other vessels, but he could feel it. it was written right beside your decision to save him and not lumine, alongside your actions in mondstat and everything you’d do in liyue. fate, you’d called it, well-acquainted and intertwined.

aether fell asleep on wet grass among cold wind. he did not get sick, nor was he attacked or otherwise hurt. why would he have been, anyway? your blood was in his veins; he had nothing at all to fear.

215 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 9 days

Note

Hello! I’m sending this on anonymous bc I’m too much of a coward to say this on my main hehe :D

I wanted to drop you a line and express how much I adore your work! I’ve never been really big in fandoms or fanfics, but your writing style and storytelling are absolutely phenomenal! (★^O^★) Your stories have this special quality that keeps me coming back for more. I often find myself revisiting your stories even months after reading them and can’t help but be completely enamored by each one!

Whether it be your vivid descriptions of scenes, or your vast understanding of each character's personalities and lore, you have never disappointed with any of them. Your writing truly takes me on an unforgettable journey every time I dive into one of your works. Your creativity and passion shine through in every word, and it's truly inspiring!

Thank you for sharing your incredible talent with the world! I can't wait to see what amazing stories you come up with next. ( ´ ▽ ` )♥︎

Warmest regards,

Anon ^ ^

THANK YOU!!! I LOVE YOU!!! AH!!

this is so sweet… framing this ask on my wall putting it on my resume etc etc

i’m happy you’ve enjoyed what i’ve written! i’m happy it’s nice enough that you come back and reread it! thank you so so much for the compliments and i hope you have a lovely day! thank you for being here!!!

#anon i am literally in love with you btw /p #m1d : [chats]#m1d : [sweethearts]#reread this like 3 times. me when i have a positive impact on the world !!!#i want to hold this ask in my inbox forever but i need you to know how much i love this #‘UNDERSTANDING OF THEIR PERSONALITIES AND LORE’???? SOBBING WHAT #ahausjejdjdnsnd you guys …… are so nice to me….#you’re not a coward at all btw asks from main are scary #that being said COME OFF ANON SO I CAN THANK YOU PERSONALLY

1 note · View note

m1d-45 · 9 days

Note

heelloo May I join your tag listt?🥺

of course! thank you for your interest and have a great rest of your day <33

#m1d : [chats]#yo :]

1 note · View note

m1d-45 · 9 days

Note

Hi, long time, work is very busy and my brain is broken, but i somehow managed to drag myself back from the pits of hell to ask;

Do the peeps of teyvat use Creator instead of "god", and stuff.

Like, Oh Creator, instead of oh god.

And go to abyss, instead of go to hell.

By the grace of the creator!

-🥘Stew

[also drags myself out of The Pit] I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS BEFORE

“creator” doesn’t Hit as well as just "god," plus you have the substitute of just "by the archons" which imo is better. the actual like swears vary by nation, but i think "creator" is saved for the more Serious moments, if that makes sense. in general, god -> gods, archons, maybe the name of one in particular, heaven -> celestia, i think they’ve said hellish in canon but the analog would just be abyssal like you’ve said.

NOW. nations definitely have their own specific curses, like mare jivari for mondstat or the thunderbird or tatarasuna for inazuma, the chasm for liyue, but that’s up to your preferred worldbuilding and the character who’s saying it. maybe someone doesn’t think swearing with an archon(or higher)‘s name is appropriate, maybe some extremists in sumeru swear using the Other side of the wall (like azar saying a prospect was ‘full of sand’ or whatever), i could write an entire paper about the possibilities. i won’t though because i am tired.

thank you for the ask! and so sorry about the delay!!

#m1d : [chats]#stew🥘 anon #what’s up chatters i am in the TRENCHES #[shows up after a month absence] [answers three asks] [refuses to elaborate]

13 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 2 months

Text

pankration

summary: wriothesley has come a long way in his life, ascending the ranks of the fortress in merely a handful of years. yet, after it all, it always seems he ends up right back where he started.

word count: 3.7k

-> warnings: lots of mentions of blood and violence, major spoilers for wriothesley lore/story quest

< masterlist >

pankration was a core part of the fortress of meropide.

it started as a collective term for the various brawls around every corner, a whispered term when guards were present. all fights had to be reported, but if you bet on someone winning pankration, those that knew pretended they didn’t and those that didn’t didn’t have to pretend at all. anything goes within the impromptu battlefield, cut up gears into rough brass knuckles, scrap metal as a shiv, blood and bruises blooming in equal proportion. fighters would take out whoever you wanted if you had enough credits, or maybe they wouldn’t and take both your money and the reward from the administrator for reporting you. pankration had no rules, no boundaries, no set time or place.

wriothesley knew this, and figured out early on the best ways to win. when he first arrived at the fortress, he was young. not exactly scrawny by anyone’s standards, but certainly at a disadvantage among those with decades of experience. he kept his vision close to his chest, and when another prisoner’s knife dug into it instead of his heart, he knew he had to change.

he was never taught how to fight, but he learned how to cheat, and fast. he swiped spare wire and scrap parts, formed points for his punches to drive through. he couldn’t beat his opponents through pure strength at first, so he forced himself to be quick. even the toughest fighters had their weak spots, and he was determined to find them. it was life or death, if not for the immediate battle then for long term food.

a small corner of his mind flinched at the violence, hated that this was how things had to be, but he silenced it quickly enough. he was fighting for money, he told himself, to win reputation, to earn his spot within the bolted steel walls. he fighting to be able to eat well, to sleep comfortably, to walk when he needed without his hands twitching for his gauntlets at any sound. he fought to stay alive, not only because of his vision’s added strength but of his own, every scar across his body a lesson learned.

slowly, his reputation grew. slowly, people began to recognize him, the oddly proportioned teenager —only barely, but he wasn’t about to correct them—with steel hands and silvered hair. rumors were as important a currency as coupons, and he took great care to keep the ones about him in his favor. that was his life for a while, cycling between picking fights and patching himself up, collecting coupons and earning favor. he listened to the shadows, and if someone had something to say, he challenged them in the light.

soon, though, these whispers began to change. gossip bled through the walls about a ‘duke,’ speaking with such reverence that it had him worried. they spoke about him like a deadly weapon, all sharp edges and jabbing cuts. the duke, highest in rank second only to the administrator, a force of nature stronger than even the sea itself. he’d never met or even heard of duke, had they been intentionally avoiding him? how much did they know? he only hid his pankration from the guards, he’d be at a major disadvantage if they knew all his tactics.

it’s almost funny how concerned he was over a ghost, the thin week between who he was and who he became spent with a knife tucked in his sleeve.

someone had tried to trick a new prisoner into being his toy, saying that it was part of the prison’s “orientation program.” wriothesley thought he’d made his point perfectly clear to all who knew him that newbies needed time to make their own place, but a well-placed punch did the rest of the job. he wasn’t paying much attention to what he was saying, spouting off the usual nonsense about not taking advantage of others while an itch at the back of his neck told him he was doing the same thing.

it’s different, he told himself, even as his boot pressed into their chest. they tried to push it off, wheezing out an apology, but he let them squirm a bit before letting up. it’s different, because he’s doing it to protect someone else, isn’t he?

“that’s our duke,” someone whispered behind him, and he whipped around so quickly he nearly tripped over himself. he searched for an unfamiliar face, trying to find who spoke, but all eyes were on him.

his hands began to shake within his gloves, uncomfortable dots connecting in his head. he stepped forward to push his way through, but the crowd parted like the tide around a ship, nobody resentful on behalf of the man with bruises rapidly forming across his ribs.

he spent nearly an entire day alone after that, pacing within his room. how could he be their duke when he didn’t want to rule? not out of fear, not when a sharp enough glare could make another prisoner pale, not when he had just managed to convince himself that his violence was a necessity. his gauntlets lay on his desk and he didn’t even want to touch them, conflict taking place of his blood.

he was still doing good, wasn’t he? protecting those who didn’t know better, forcing vendors to lower the cost of basic necessities, discouraging violence against the guards to defend those he could tentatively trust. he did not have an ‘inner circle,’ not like the other groups that came before him, and part of the reason was that he was not part of any one gang. he had no affiliation but himself, no family but the steel that wrapped around his wrists, no name but the one he’d chosen.

but here he was. the duke of the fortress.

he wasn’t the first to know when his coupons were taken. a massive leaderboard hung in the center of the main level, the top ten positions a brawl. his place had long since been cemented, and yet he returned from his breakfast to find a massive crowd surrounding the board. part of him wanted to ignore it, as he was leaving—was he? he was avoiding the topic as best as he could—the fortress the next day, but he knew better. as before, the crowd parted, allowing him to see that his space on the board had been filled, with a note to the side explaining that his had been confiscated for “poor behavior.”

he almost laughed. almost, the corner of his mouth twitching, but he remained firm. the crowd had turned to him for an answer, and he needed to find one fast.

“that could have been anyone.” he didn’t know where he was going with this, turning around and crossing his arms to appear bigger than he was. “is that how you want to live?”

roars of agreement met his ears, most of the prisoner body gathered under a flag of need.

“underhanded sabotage is not the answer to the failure of authority,” he had declared, well aware that the hand he was waving was stained with years of bloodshed. “i’ll take care of it.”

he didn’t know how. nobody asked, hundreds of voices assenting that their duke would handle it, that if anyone could it was him, again parting to allow him passage. his hand was raised, knocking on the administrator’s door before he could understand what he was doing. he didn’t even register their face, heart pounding. he was saying something, asking- asking for a duel he’d surely never receive. he may have some sort of authority over the prisoners, but he surely had none over the administrator.

when they called for those who thought the challenge was unjustified, the only sound was the water circulating beneath their feet.

they agreed. tomorrow at noon, in front of their office. he nodded, the doors closed, and he was left in front of a crowd he didn’t know how to face. people were smiling, patting each other’s shoulders, expecting him to win. he knew if it came down to a physical fight he would, but they could have just as easily slipped word to a palais garde, and his sentence would be extended for threatening a public official.

would he mind? was freedom what he really wanted? did he prefer living in the fortress, or did he just like that he’d already established a foundation? what did that say about him, if he liked living in blood and oil more than he did fresh air?

he hardly slept that night, not that it mattered. the administrator was gone the next morning, and his life had changed.

another crowd had gathered, trying and failing to be subtle. iron doors stared him down, the knocker weighing twice as much as it should. when it hit the door, it shifted inward just the smallest amount, as if inviting him in. his heart was in his ears as he pushed the door open, wondering about the hundreds of options that could be awaiting him inside, but the office was empty. the lower level had no coat on the rack, the stairs missing the bright red rug that used to run down it. the shelves up top were empty, the only sign someone had lived in there at all taking the form of a gramophone sitting on the edge of the desk. no record lay inside.

people had figured out what had happened, now, metal echoing as people climbed the stairs. the chair was a plush velvet, a rapidly forming headache burning behind his eyes.

the prior administrator had people call them by their title and last name, a rule nobody followed. they were simply the admin, nameless and faceless and only ruler in title alone. wriothesley’s name was well known throughout every inch of the fortress’ walls, and yet now that he was in their chair, everyone still called him the duke.

his position as duke did not make him fit to be an administrator, and his new seat could only be secured as he proved himself worthy of it. he had no idea how to manage the fortress. he was running blind for a half of his first year, off the cuff intuition somehow getting him what he wanted. he feared every day that someone would find out, that his incompetence would be put upon the world’s stage, but either nobody noticed or nobody cared. he timed shipments wrong? apologies for the hold-up. guards weren’t following the uncoordinated patrols he arranged? forgive us, your grace, for allowing your orders to slip our mind. he waited for the day that people realized they had no tangible reason to respect him, waited for the revolt, but it never came.

why? he wanted to ask, watching as guards saluted when he walked by. what part of me has earned your respect?

he made it a point not to strong-arm prisoners now that he was in a higher position, did his best not to rule with fear. as a prisoner, he could allow himself to survive, but now he had no reason to. to wriothesley, true respect was not bought or fought for, and only true respect could keep a fortress full of criminals in line.

welfare meals earned him respect. standardized jobs, base level housing, small quality of life changes that he hated as a prisoner. he worked from dawn to dusk—as much as one could when buried hundreds of feet beneath the sea—and even then, it took him years to feel as if he’d finally earned his keep. much like his time as an inmate, wriothesley could not feel comfortable until he had prepared for everything, until every problem had either been gotten rid of or improved.

pankration could not fully be outlawed. fights would still happen no matter what rules he implemented, so he skipped banning and went straight for regulation. the least he could do was ensure it was safe and organized, to provide a stage for formalized challenges. it only resembles its original form in name, changing from fistfights in shadowed hallways to a tournament sport held next door to the infirmary. a new elevator was installed, a dedicated section of the sub-level below sectioned off to keep the main area of the fortress somewhat quiet. prisoners’ hobbies had little to do with how the fortress functioned externally, but he was finding himself with more and more free time. it was supposed to be a good thing, less work for him meant that the systems he’d implemented could hold their own, but he was left restless. even now, his schedule was cleared for the rest of the day, desk empty of paperwork. nothing to do and nothing more urgent needed improving, so it’s not like he had anything better to do than pay the ring a visit. he was getting antsy sitting still for so long anyway.

he pulled his jacket from the back of his chair, lazily draping it over one shoulder. guards and prisoners alike dipped their heads as he passed, a gesture he returned with a faint wave. the elevator was empty, the clanking gears his only company as the cart slowly twisted. the shouts and cheers from below grew louder and louder, echoing up the tunnel. the doors hissed open and he stepped out, the sound of his boots on the metal floors drowned as bets were won and lost.

he could nearly pinpoint the moment that people recognized him. the flicker of uncertainty over their faces, credit coupons tucked into pockets and hidden away, someone subtly trying to loosen the springs on the training dummies. he spent years trying to lead without terror, and yet here in the pankration ring, none of it seemed to matter. blood and sweat mixed in the air, his mind automatically associating the smell with memories. if he were to close his eyes, he could almost pretend he wasn’t wearing his cloak, pretend he was about to enter a fight he knew he could win, pretend that he could see his would-be opponent curled up in a pool of their own blood.

“is there a problem, your grace?”

he blinked, and he was back to the present. “just wanted to check in,” he lied, waving over to the group of training equipment. “you could tell me if you needed new dummies.”

and the group relaxed, oblivious to the fact that their duke’s fingers were digging into his arm, the memories lingering like an infectious disease.

he came back the next week, helping set up the new equipment. the old ones were worn out and poorly repaired, and everyone was happy that they were being replaced. it was a safety hazard more than anything, and a need he was more than willing to meet.

again, setting up a small stall for water and snacks, for both contestant and observer. a more official platform for those managing the bets and standardization for the referees, better padding over the poles of the ring, jokes passed around that if he spent any more time in the arena, he might as well compete.

he had told himself he was better. that he was only a fighter as an inmate because he needed to be, that everything he did worked to prevent power by way of fear. he told himself over and over that he was different, that he didn’t want that, and now he was wondering if he ever believed it. now he wondered why he ever tried.

his coat was left in his office this time, the various pins and layers of his outfit stripped away. wraps were now purchasable, but his hands were covered in the same roughly cut cloth he’d always used. he stretched, watched as his opponent hyped himself up, gaining cheers from the crowd on his side of the arena. he had wanted his first show to be a surprise, to listen to the shocked silence that would undoubtedly follow his debut. he reached, pulling himself up and over the railing in one fluid jump, and was met with the silence he expected.

and then the room exploded, coupons changing hands—why was he surprised people were betting on him competing?—as his opponent turned around. with the entire arena as his witness, wriothesley smiled, adrenaline tingling in his palms at the flash of fear over their face.

for the good of both pankration and the fortress as a whole, he’d hired a proper, in-house nurse. her name was sigewinne, a melusine with more intuition for the human body than most would give her credit for, her work neat and diligent. she was hellbent on getting him to take care of himself, which included stopping his habit of returning to the ring day after day. when he went to fix himself up (that she always insisted on doing for him) she often asked why, asked if there was really nothing better to do with his time than to continue to fight as if he were an inmate, all teeth and claws and dirty tactics. he knew if he was honest with her, pouring out every thought and craving in his head, she would have some fancy name for his desire. there was some book she could point to, some moment in his life that was at fault, but he never bothered trying. why would he, when he already had his answer? this rush, this high as he dashed forward, feeling the prisoner’s balance shift beneath his fist, it wasn’t a stranger to him. he was well familiar with the pride that came with a fight well won. wriothesley had spent years convincing himself he had earned his power outside of beating someone else for it, but now he wondered why he had used that conviction to avoid fighting as a whole. this was what he was meant for, barely feeling the blows across his chest in favor of kicking out their feet with his own, pouncing as they fell. there was no crowd around him, no harsh lights, just him and the head locked beneath his arm, elbows jabbing backwards in weak protest.

the bell rang. he’d won. he didn’t care.

again and again, he returned to the ring, the bruises from his last fight not yet fully healed. scars already crossed his body in a net of victories, he barely noticed a few extra spots of blue. he wanted more than anything to believe he was better than those who raised him, that he wasn’t someone who wanted others to live in fear of them, but he couldn’t deny the enjoyment he felt when someone regretted signing up. that brief, blink and you miss it instance of cold feet, lingering just for a moment. there were rules to pankration now, rules that he followed to the letter, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating and everyone involved knew it. a lifetime of fought for muscle and a glare sharpened to a point, barely an icy flash beneath his hair. the deafening cheers, the dim lights, his split lip he barely noticed and a bruise on his side that pulsed when he breathed. beat up and dirty, the prime example of some street rat he’d normally condemn, smiling a bit too wide when he won.

what was the point of being a duke, his mind whispered, if he wasn’t allowed a little fun?

that’s what it was to him. fun. he put up a front and pretended that he was whole on the inside, that it was just a time-killer to keep him in shape, the sick pride that came with it a secret kept locked far, far away. maybe he wasn’t better. maybe this made him just as bad as his host family was, maybe his enjoyment should have him locked up in a different kind of institution. maybe that was all true, but his gray morality was something he’d long since come to terms with. he didn’t regret killing, he didn’t regret rising to the tops of the fortress’ ranks, and he certainly didn’t regret taking part in this new pankration. what was one more sin added to his tally? wednesdays always had a cleared afternoon, but it wasn’t enough, his feet bringing him back to the arena again and again. day after day, the elevator’s whine already setting his heart pumping faster, chasing the high that the control gave him.

his current opponent struggled beneath his hand, an iron grip around their neck that wasn’t tight enough to do any permanent damage. they could still breathe, their pulse thundering beneath his fingers, and he waited a split second too long after they tapped out to let them go.

it was bad, but it was fun, their eyes tearing up with a subconscious doubt that they’d leave the ring alive. he was bad, but he was already in prison, and nobody had to know about what went on behind the scenes of his actions. nobody ever ended up hurt, after all, and he still did somewhat pull his punches. he stood, then helped them up and patted them on the shoulder, making some blanket comment that they needed to focus on defensive techniques more. most of the contestants did. he waited a moment to make sure they got out of the arena safely before returning to his corner, waving off someone offering him water. it wasn’t as if he didn’t care his prisoners, far from it in fact, but…

wriothesley made a bit of a show of fixing the wraps on his hand, watching that familiar regret light up his next challenger’s eyes.

what was the point of being the duke, he thought, if he wasn’t allowed a little fun?

65 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 2 months

Note

Vibrating SO HARD cuz im guaranteed Xiao, so i'll get him finally to be c1 because i dont want yae miko, im close to pity 75 and IM SO FUCKING TREMBLING CUZ OF THE MICROSCOPIC CHANCE OF LOSING THE FIFTY FIFTY WHICH IS LIKE ONE IN A MILLION OR SOMETHING BUT WHAT *IF*-

-🥘Stew, who KNOWS they are overthinking. BUT STILL-

you got this !!!! xiao CANNOT escape he WILL be yours and i believe in you !! don’t worry, you’ll be alright !

#m1d : [chats]#stew🥘 anon #xiao :(

9 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 2 months

Note

Do you ever think about what characters would say 'kys' thinking it meant 'keep yourself safe' because I do and it always goes to Qiqi for some reason :')

🪷 anon

I AM NOW

qiqi would have to have picked it up from some kids when she’s walking through the harbor, and she’ll probably “qiqi heard other kids saying goodbye at the harbor, so… k..y-s… :)” “qiqi- do you remember what that means?” “….if i had to guess…. keep.. yourself safe? that seems like something friends would say…”

there’s not really that many snarky types…. perhaps yae rejecting a book submission with “nope, LOL !” and when confronted simply smiles, “you’re a bit behind, aren’t you? it’s a simple acronym for ‘lots of love.’ i was wishing you well on your journey elsewhere, but i can rescind my respect if you don’t care for it.”

genshin characters are too tragic or too blunt for any to fit the type… barbara might be tricked and earnestly wish a sister well, but she’d very quickly correct her mistake when confronted. same for maybe mika or collei?

(neuvillette might buy it at first [the other person was too afraid to admit what ‘kys’ actually meant in front of the chief justice so they lied instead] but he’s the type to look up words in a minimum of three dictionaries before using it in his day to day conversation.)

dori and xingqiu would just be very verbose with their insults (to the point of confusing the other person, which makes them smile), alhaitham and diluc would just cut the conversation short—there’s not enough whimsy in teyvat for this. even like lyney, or kaeya, or even beidou who have the (even if artificial) personality for the (kys in specific) joke wouldn’t be able to actually make it. there’s a very narrow overlap between ‘jester’s disposition’ and ‘emotional stability’ that 99.99% of genshin characters fall outside of.

….that being said, zhongli. intentionally, fully knowing, playing it up as “ah, modern slang… the history buff once again foiled by the youngsters… 😞” but he Knows.

#m1d : [chats]#🪷 anon #all of this is aside from the fact that these are modern slang terms #we ball baby

25 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 2 months

Note

Before I drop the actual ask I just wanna say if you had happened to sell your soul to like the devil or something to be able to write the way that you do (I wouldn’t be surprised, your bird!xiao stuff has me bawling my eyes out) then I would totally give you mine out of gratitude for producing such lovely works. Thank you for those!!

Anyways you can ignore this if it makes no sense or you simply don’t want to bother but I have an idea that I’d like you to consider that might be of some interest; I spent my 3am reading through the Shining Nikki Saga tag and it got me thinking about a creator from other similar games/medias. One that has been plaguing my thoughts in particular is a creator- especially Impostor!au- who’s from Honkai Impact 3rd.

A creator who’s a Herrscher, or maybe a Houkai beast or Pseudo-Herrscher the way that Benares is, or even just a standard Valkyrie.

But Just. A creator who isn’t helpless after their unfortunate isekai. They pull up in Teyvat, get attacked by the forces of whichever nation they land in, and their first reaction is “oh haha okay- TAKE THIS SUBSPACE LANCE DUMBASS‼️”

ohhh you understand

first off, i’m glad you liked what i’ve written! thank you very much for the compliment

secondly, that’s very interesting! warning that while i’ve dabbled in hi3, i never actually played it that much (not my style of gameplay). that being said the idea of being able to access those powers while you’re in an isekai has a lot of potential

(obligatory note that while the universes of hi3 and gi are connected, i will not be acknowledging this anywhere else in this post)

(note two: that would be interesting, though. fischl and fischl…)

in terms of hi3, my mind is going to the “kill them with kindness? WRONG, herrscher of the void 🌌🌌🌌🌌🌌” meme. this is all i have to offer.

lie. from my limited knowledge i remember a unit who’s abilities centered around painting- dude, the mech suits? good luck killing me when i am a literal transformer. swords don’t do shit against 4tons of steel.

in terms of other various medias, my mind goes to, as always, minecraft. isekai!creator with creative mode. ender pearls for quick getaways, invisibility potions, potions for speed and fire resistance (which will come in handy should they start to pull out witch trial pyres), flying if they’re in creative mode, fireworks and elytras..… honestly, depending how much of the base media you want to pull over into genshin, pretty much any other media would work. i’m also thinking of demon slayer (for the sole reason it has been discussed on this blog prior) and specifically giyu’s “dead calm” breathing, but any of the others will do. depends on the media and a bunch of semantics about lore, but i’m not going to get into that.

redirecting back to mhy games strictly because of star rail (was that out when i first got this ask? god knows but it’s here now), specifically ratio’s burst. imagine being a hunter, seeing a Suspicious Person about, and in response they simply. construct a building of stone and steel out of nowhere, sending it crashing down in front of your platoon. nobody’s hurt, thankfully, but the earthquake echoes.

#m1d : [chats]#m1d : [sweethearts]#no deals with the devil here officer just autism (kicking away the ‘dust’ arranged suspiciously on the floor$#i have one (1) template for recieving nice asks on here can you tell #guy who only thinks about his ocs: getting a lot of oc vibes from this #I FORGOT I HAD THIS ASJ WHAT THE FUCK #HUH?#ad4k moment #anon i am SO SORRY GODDAMN #who allowed me to make a tumblr acct this is why i never have a presence online

17 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 2 months

Note

I have no idea who you are but idk man have some good vibes. Stay hydrated, eat 3 times a day, take your meds on time (if you do take meds), and get plenty of rest. Anyways, see ya dude.

oh ! thank you so much !! take care of yourself too, and i hope you have a great day or night !

#m1d : [chats]#what a lovely ask :]#m1d : [sweethearts]#thank you wolf <33 #smiling like a fool at this ask #hey chat severely off topic but #i just finished pulling for xiao and #if i had a nickel for every time i got the wrong anemo 5star when wishing. id have two nickels. which isn’t a lot but jean PLEASE GO AWAY

3 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 3 months

Note

I GOT SCARED I COULDN'T SEE YOU IN MY FOLLOWING LIST FOR A BIT BUT I'M GLAD TO BE BACK

Anyways, Gaming!!! I love him so much I heard his FIRST ascension voice line THE FIRST ONE and I sobbed he is so precious 😭

🪷 anon

he's so sweet !!! his ascension lines are so FUN to me—who gave this sassy child modern slang?—and though i haven't properly looked through his voicelines/lore, he's a guy ever !!

#m1d : [chats]#🪷 anon #sorry 🪷 tumblr forgot my blog existed and killed me #this is incoherent because my brain is fried rn #sorry boss

8 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 3 months

Note

can i join your tag list 🥺!

of course ! thank you for showing interest and i'm happy you've enjoyed my blog !

#m1d : [chats]#m still getting back into the swing of things so updates will be inconsistent !#if theres a proper post this week itll be because i hate de english so much im turning to dottore about it #i have something set up for chenyu vale/yilong wharf but shhhh #m back to thinking about genshin primarily again which ROCKS #i have so many drafts i need to finish and now i actually have the juice to try them again !#me when the joy of creation /ref

2 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 3 months

Note

just a small idea since you said you had a lil writers block: since wushi (lion dance) is used for important events/occasions and to honor special guests, maybe you could write about how ga-ming does a lil performance for creator?

- curse anon

vanguard’s fortune

note: this is not what you asked ! i thank you so much though

word count: 1k

-> warnings : written prior to 4.4, lots of “if you know you know” spoilers for liyue archon, story, and hangout quests, but nothin big

-> gn reader (you/yours)

< masterlist >

despite everything, ga ming knew he was lucky.

he certainly didn’t feel like he was. aside from his continued streak of bad luck at his performances, you never attended any of his shows and your vessels never gave him so much as a second glance. you’ve walked right by him on the street before—and yes, he knows you don’t ‘see’ most of liyue, but he was in the middle of a dance. he’s certain that word must have spread at least somewhat, but even when he put on a show during the last lantern rite, you didn’t attend. it was as if you didn’t even know he was there, skipping his meager stage to meet up with yun jin.

part of him wondered if you simply disliked liyue, but that was easily proven false. you took the time to accompany chongyun on his patrols, xiangling was more than happy to talk about when you’d helped her in a competition in mondstat, and you’d even fetched ingredients for the wangsheng consultant last year. it was the simple fact that you had nothing against liyue, and he was an outlier.

and yet, he was blessed. vision wielders were rare on their own, and only a thin sliver of them had constellations. he was incredibly lucky to be one of the few within your spotlight of attention, but he never felt the love that was supposed to come with it. yes, he had a vision, the lion carved on the back a figure he’s long memorized, but even the latest of liyuen rotations had a chance to exist by your side. though the others always tried to reassure him, their words fell flat. xingqiu had recieved his vision long before he became a vessel, but he had several turns in the sky to try. chongyun was largely ignored and ningguang was rarely missing from the jade palace, but that information didn’t help as much as they thought it did.

he didn’t care that he wasn’t a vessel (as much as one couldn’t care about such a thing) so much as he was ignored. you fought by ningguang’s side and helped yanfei out of the chasm, but he’d never even heard his name thrown your direction. it could be argued that he was being selfish or even egotistical, but he didn’t think so. sword and strongbox secure transport agency was a well-known name throughout liyue, and yet you’d never so much as heard a rumor. it didn’t affect his business—nor did he want your attention for business purposes—but with you helping a film show (at least now he knew you enjoyed theater) in fontaine, he may or may not have been hoping that yilong wharf’s name might have been passed your way.

it hadn’t been, though. his days went on and he continued his rounds as usual, doing his best to promote his dance and maybe getting a few mora thrown his way in return if he was lucky.

but that was fine. irritating, sure, but fine. liyue was in the tail end of preparations for this year’s lantern rite, and he was set on attending. as soon as the ministry of civil affairs opened applications for performers, he’d done his best to secure himself a stage. nobody had given him a secure word, though, saying that it was “up to divine guidance” as if your traveler hadn’t taken the transport up to the jade chamber last week. yes, you often found other things to do during lantern rite, digging into liyue’s past, but you still attended the scheduled events. you still walked the streets and saw the stalls, and there was no way that the entirety of the main road was already taken up when he’d made a point of asking early.

it was because they saw him as a guard first and a dancer second. most people did, and he was lucky they’d given him uncertainty over a guaranteed rejection. the only reason they did at all was because of the constellation etched into his vision, and he was lucky to have that too. he was lucky to have this chance when most street performers could only dream of performing at the lantern rite.

‘lucky.’ it was an accurate word, but one he was beginning to get tired of hearing.

it was fine, though. he was determined—his vision blazed as he left the ministry’s office, a constant warmth at his side—to prove himself, determined to perform for you. he didn’t know when his chance in the stars would be, or when he’d have his time by your side, but he would make the most of each day until then. when, not if, he did, he would do everything in his power to make the best impression possible.

he gave a few polite waves to various merchants as he walked through liyue, making the familiar trek over the bridge and past the gate. the millelith didn’t stop him, and he didn’t stop to say hello, only lingering long enough to acknowledge them with a quick nod. he knew liyue’s hills and they knew he did too, easily navigating to a quiet, flat space of plain. the threat of hillichurls was a constant outside the harbor, but he didn’t let that stop him, confident despite the growing twilight.

ga ming reached into his inventory and pulled on his mask, hands easily finding the controls for the massive puppet. he took a breath, then began to dance, his feet sweeping over the quiet grass.

he had no guarantee when or if he’d receive the chance to chance to win your favor. but if you chose to have him on your stage, he was determined to put on the best show you’d ever seen.

338 notes · View notes